


Chipped And Worn

by not_a_newyorker



Category: Original Work
Genre: Diary/Journal, POV First Person, Teen Years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2014-11-04
Packaged: 2018-02-24 03:56:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2567342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/not_a_newyorker/pseuds/not_a_newyorker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sky is drunkenly surreal, the stars marking the back of my eyes. C lights up, a golden ember in the night. The rich smell settles in my hair, I’ll wake up to it the next day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chipped And Worn

Outback at my old house there was a small green tinged stone courtyard. It was cracked and worn with long crevices that ran end to end. Here from the darkness the largest dock leaves reached for the light and the most vibrant dandelions. Amongst this rocky garden was a freshly painted pastel bench swing. It had a pale blue frame and a purple seat that could sit two across. It sat ever quiet on the stone.

On a hot lazy day my mother would dazedly nap along it, languidly rocking with one leg. Whilst I nestled between hers legs my head resting on her stomach listening to the creaking grumble and thumping of the human body. 

 

On days full of play and sun. The swing could fit four squiggling bustling children.Everyone of us barely stretching a leg down to push off with giddy excitement, setting a jostling rhythm. Oten the back legs kicked up knocking us about releasing joyous laughter I recall lazy afternoons resting on my stomach picking at its paint, blue coloured dust danced to the ground. Halloween nights gobbling sweets atop my fathers lap watching my neighbour’s fireworks add stars to the sky. To roll over on a dusty evening and watch the sky rock above me.

Today the bench swing sits in a new garden on a neat patio - chipped and worn. I still swing on its creaking boards but not as feverishly.Whenever I sit on its seat I’m presented with a summary of my entire life.

After long nights out I often rest there in the dewy night, dazedly talking with my bestfriend - slowly rocking. We can just sit in comfortable silence letting the night lay like silk on our skin. The sky is drunkenly surreal, the stars marking the back of my eyes. C lights up, a golden ember in the night. The rich smell settles in my hair, I’ll wake up to it the next day.


End file.
